It would be impossible, and perhaps slightly embarrassing (there was always a cocktail or two involved) to recall the many nights I have spent in the company of Buddy Charles.
He is a magician of the night, able to soothe the most tortured souls, comfort the lonely and aid the amorous. His bag of tricks, so to speak, includes the keys of the piano, which
he tickles and pounds and caresses; his delightfully agile voice; his vast repertoire and his ever-cheerful, pleasantly devilish manner.
I first encountered Charles many years ago when he played at Acorn on Oak, a nocturnal sanctuary.
When the Acorn closed seven years ago, Buddy moved to the more rarefied confines of the Coq d’Or in the Drake Hotel.
It has worked out just fine, if not as funky, and Tuesday through Saturday the hotel is celebrating Buddy’s 50 years of performing. (Impossible to believe! Buddy’s as lively as a colt!) Included will be such dubious activities as “Name That Tune” and amateur singing contests.
Buddy will get something special from the hotel, and the city will proclaim that Friday is officially Buddy Charles Day.
Who’s in charge here?
The proclamation should be for Buddy Charles Night.
